


The Same Page

by Nabielka



Category: bare: A Pop Opera - Hartmere/Intrabartolo
Genre: Coming Out, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why did you do it?”</p><p>“What the hell are you on about?” Jason interrupted, pushing himself up. “Everybody knows already.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same Page

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).



> Title is from Matt's line in 'Promise'.

Peter tossed his bag onto his bed, and sank down into one of the chairs by their shared desk, prodding the bouquet resting in a cup to the side. “What’s with the flowers?” 

Jason looked up. “Someone left them outside the door. There was a note,” he turned away, fixing his gaze on the textbook open in front of him, flipping the page with one hand.

Peter smiled. “Saying?” 

“That it was to do with the play,” Jason muttered, as Peter watched the pink stain his cheekbones, and said nothing, waited. After a few moments Jason added, “that they were for the lead of the play. Look, it’s stupid, I just thought – I can give them to Nadia, she won’t mind.”

“I don’t think she likes flowers,” Peter said, “but if you’re giving them to her why put them in water over here?” he gestured with his hand. 

Jason did not look at him. When he spoke he sounded as though he was trying very hard to sound casual, “I thought you might like them.”

“Oh, flowers for little old me?” he teased to make him relax, but Jason only twitched in response.

“It was just an –” But his mouth opened easily, unprotesting the interruption when Peter kissed him. 

“You should maybe not give them to Nadia,” he said between kisses, and felt Jason nod against his neck. “It might upset Ivy.”

“If they’re for the leads she’s got one too,” Jason protested. 

Peter huffed out a laugh, gave him another quick kiss and sat back down again, his back protesting, but they did not have the time. “It’s hardly the school sending them. It’s some girl lovesick over you. Probably Ivy herself.”

“Ivy would sign the card, hell, Ivy would write it normally,” said Jason, standing up and walking to the door while Peter watched him, bemused. But instead of leaving, he only fished out a card from the wastepaper bin and waved it, “look, whoever she is, she’s clearly trying to disguise her handwriting.” Indeed, as Peter looked at it, he could not attribute the words to any of their classmates, and yet it was familiar, but the knowledge curled like the letters, just out of reach. 

“A secret admirer!” he said, passing it back. “Should I be jealous?”

“Not at all,” said Jason, tossing it back at the bin, where it bounced off the rim and fell abandoned onto the floor. “It might just be good wishes, and besides, it’s only you I want,” and they lost themselves in each other for the time being. 

Later, however, Peter felt rather confident that he had been right, for Ivy showed no sign of having received anything, and paid no more attention to Jason than usual – which still, for Peter was a bit too much. He could not fault her taste, nor that of the anonymous sender – for he too could see the attraction Jason posed – but all the same he could not help wishing they had fallen for somebody else. It would have helped to have them know they yearned in vain; it would have gratified Peter to have their relationship acknowledged, but though he himself thought more and more that they could not keep this hidden, Jason remained steadfast in his conviction otherwise. 

“ – too slapstick for me. Like, there were funny bits once in a while, but overall? Not my thing. Jason?” Unseen by her, the smile that had bridged Matt’s face over the announcement that she had watched it fell, though something of the elation of sitting next to her still remained in his face; they were discussing his favourite show. 

Jason, who watched it only when Peter did and had spent the last episode doing his best to distract him from the screen, said only “didn’t see the last one. Anyhow, I’ve got practice.” He got up, grabbed his bag, and only nodded briefly at Ivy’s murmur of disappointment. Then he leaned forward a bit, and Peter, thinking he had swayed a little unconsciously, put out a hand to steady him. But he had been too well-conditioned by the years of living with Jason, of kissing him on their beds that he lacked the instincts to react when Jason leaned over and kissed him, very briefly, right in public. He was suddenly very aware of the press of the couch against his back, and though it could not have lasted longer than a few seconds, the time seemed to draw out, Ivy’s gasp was magnified. 

“Bye,” said Jason, pulling away, and adjusting his bag on his shoulder, walked calmly away as if nothing had happened. Peter left there, felt curiously numb, even as he turned his eyes over the room. Thankfully the room, small as it was, was not crowded, with a few people situated in groups throughout the room. None of them seemed to be staring at them, but he couldn’t avoid the feeling that they had all seen, and were now looking skilfully out of the corners of their eyes, even the ones whose backs were turned, though he knew it to be ludicrous. 

“Peter?” said Ivy cautiously, “is – are – is Jason – ” she broke off. 

“Clearly,” said Nadia. She didn’t sound surprised. 

Ivy turned to her then. “You knew?” Her voice cracked a little. She went pale, then a little flushed. 

Matt said, “Shall I get you something?” 

Ivy hesitated, looked between Peter and Nadia as though considering saying something, then stood up, brushing her skirt down. “Yes, I’ll come.” But she had only gone a few steps before she turned back, and walked up to Peter with a determined air. “Look, I don’t care that you’re gay – or bi or whatever” here, she waved a hand dismissively  
“but keep him away from me for the time being, all right?” And with that she turned and marched out; Matt shot Peter a pleased smile and followed her. 

As the numbness receded, he found himself growing irritated. After all the arguments they’d had over coming out, it felt ridiculous to blame Jason for doing so, but all the same Peter felt abruptly furious, with the humiliation of not knowing, the surprise of it all, but beneath that he was hurt to have Jason decide so suddenly, though barely a week ago he’d been adamant otherwise, and assume that Peter would go blindly with whatever he chose. 

He barely heard Nadia speak, “You don’t look happy.”

“I think I just need some time to sort of settle things in my mind,” he said blankly, forcing an unconvincing smile. 

She looked at him for a long moment, and Peter twitched, discomfited. She had at times the same piercing gaze Jason sometimes got, and it never failed to put Peter on edge. “All right,” she said finally, “but call me for anything, all right?”

Peter nodded, and left. He thought for a moment that it might serve Jason right if he were to find Peter waiting for him after practice – “a boyfriend thing,” he’d always said, dismissively, “not subtle at all” – then was hit with the thought that perhaps Jason would no longer mind, which terrified him, and sent him down the hallways as he’d really intended all along, back to their room. 

How strange to walk back in there after that! It felt to him as though the walls and the door were no longer quite stable, as though anybody might at any time peak through and find them there, no secret places remaining in the world. He shook his head to clear it and sank down upon his bed, but could not put his thoughts in order. 

He had no homework – and how strange it felt to regret that – to focus on anything else, and though he tried reading he found himself only staring blankly at the page in front of him, reading the same sentences over and over yet finding that when he turned the page, he could not remember how the sentence had began. At last, the light breaking through yonder window onto the flowers caught his attention, and Peter reached again for the little card that had reportedly come with them. It was not immediately recognisable, and yet he had seen the handwriting before, he could be certain enough of that. But he could not, of course, request to look at everybody’s writing in the school. 

In an attempt at distraction, he let his eyes rove over the room. There opposite him was Jason’s bed, the sheets still tangled, between them a little chest of drawers and another larger one to the side, with one of the drawers not quite closed. The door opened. Jason came in.

“It wasn’t even a practice, and literally everything he said he could have done tomorrow,” he said, kicking his shoes off. His hair lay perfectly flat. “Wasting everybody’s Sunday, even the dailies made it in.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because Coach sent us all an email to go there?”

“No, kiss me in front of everybody.” He felt himself go red.

“Why not?” said Jason, smiling lazily, flopping down on his bed, pushing the covers aside.

“Just yesterday you were saying how this would always be an issue, how if we even tell anybody it’ll get around, to your father, to Father, to Notre Dame, and now, what? You can’t just choose to – ”

“What the hell are you on about?” Jason interrupted, pushing himself up. “Everybody knows already.”

“No?” he said, and was surprised at how hesitant it came out, then annoyed at himself for it. It was hardly the time to fall into the usual problem of being annoyed with Jason, that urge to give in to him. “I mean, Matt knows, and now at least your sister and Ivy know, but in case you’ve missed the last few years of your life, everybody else thinks you’re straight!” He heard his voice rise, took a deep breath and tried for a more measured tone, “Look, you should have at least told me beforehand, I know we’ve discussed it, but as a future situation, and – what changed your mind?”

“Why wouldn’t I kiss you in public?” Jason asked. About to snap back in anger, Peter’s attention was caught by the look on his face – Jason looked and sounded utterly mystified. He felt the anger drain out of him, leaving not much behind. He hadn’t slept well, nor could he, like a large proportion of the congregation, catch up much during Mass, and though it was still light outside it felt like the day had been going on for a very long time. 

“Did you take anything from Lucas?” he said finally. 

Jason looked insulted. “Of course not! Look, if you’re going to be unreasonable –”

“I’m not the one being unreasonable here! I just want to figure out what’s going on – because for some inexplicable reason, you appear to believe we’re out, even though you’ve been resisting even the idea ever since I first brought it up.”

Jason peered at him suspiciously. After a long pause, he said, “Is this because of the flowers? You really have no cause to be jealous; you know that.”

“I’m not,” said Peter, but an idea was forming in his mind. He wasn’t jealous, he was certain enough of that, nor was he that bothered by the accusation, but still the comment wouldn’t leave his mind. Jason had, after all, been acting perfectly normal the day before. But it hardly bore thinking about, there was no possible link between Jason’s strange behaviour and the bouquet now on the desk. There was no drug that could have changed Jason’s mind about coming out, Peter knew that, and knew just as well that God would not waste his time on such ‘miracles’. 

But the thought would not leave him that there was some sort of connection, for he knew well enough that he was not dreaming. To distract himself, he got up to close the drawer that hung ajar, but as he made to do so, something sparkly caught his eye, and he pushed it wider open instead. Inside lay, among other paraphernalia, stacks of cards, both birthday and Christmas. Jason had stored them there, being sentimental and masochistic about it; he had remarked once that they were there to serve as a reminder of all they would lose if they came out, though he stayed away from the drawer. Peter picked up a pile, opening and discarding them as he went. 

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, but he didn’t reply. Several of the cards were easily discardable, their authors having already graduated, and several with handwriting that was very clearly nothing like the card, for the attempt at disguise did not seem to Peter’s unpractised eye to be particularly experienced. It was clearly not Nadia, who would never have thought of such a thing, nor Ivy who had looked so stricken, but – the memory of Matt’s smile flashed through his mind, and he began a separate pile, discarding the cards which were not Matt’s, even though the idea wormed at him. Soon enough he came to a card, a joking one, coloured green and blue, which had been from Matt and opened it, lifting up the flower tag for comparison. It was not quite the same handwriting; the tag’s _n_ curled at the end while Matt’s ended sharply on the decline, and he had made an attempt to join the preceding _o_ to it that when compared with his usual writing looked clumsy, but there were similarities enough in the sharp curve of his _J_ and the twist in his _D_ that made it likely. 

It still didn’t make sense, but Peter took both up, grabbed a jumper he thought was his and walked out, letting Jason’s words hit the door, pulling it over his head as he went. There was not necessarily any link, he thought, but still he would have liked an explanation for the gift; to suggest anything else would be to make himself ridiculous, for of course, Matt would say, anybody would say, the flowers could not have led to anything. 

Thankfully, it was not a long walk to Matt’s room, certainly not long enough for Peter to seriously talk himself out of doing so. Light shone through the little window above the door, and Peter steeled himself and knocked.

It took a moment; he was just preparing to knock again, but he had not yet raised his hand, when Matt opened the door. Behind him, his laptop was open, there were stacks of books on the floor and an empty bed, made-up with the corners tucked, for Matt, having only switched to boarding this term, slept alone. 

“Ivy’s not here?” Peter asked, just to be sure.

Matt, leaning against the frame of the door, said considering, “Would you like her to be?” 

Peter had the sudden thought that if he said yes, Matt would march him over to Ivy’s room forthwith, as though somebody had appointed him her assistant. Instead he said, “Actually it’s you I wanted to see.”

Matt stepped aside and gestured with a long swoop of his arm to come inside, before pushing the laptop lid shut and crossing over to his bed, leaving Peter the chair by the desk. Peter duly sat down, and pulled the cards out of his pocket, handing them over. 

Having received them, Matt turned them over in his hands a few times, opening the card, before saying, in a tone of puzzlement, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Don’t play ignorant, it doesn’t suit you,” said Peter. “I know you sent the flowers.”

Matt sighed. “Look, I have no designs on your boyfriend. Everybody knows I like Ivy – hell, Ivy knows, and it may be hopeless, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“I know,” Peter said, “look I – this will sound a bit weird, I guess, insane maybe, but here’s the thing: Jason’s always been against coming out, and now all of a sudden – well, you saw. And it’s today, and you sent those flowers today so –”

He was cut off by Matt’s laugh. “So you think what? I drugged Jason to make him come out?” 

Peter felt his cheeks burn. It was, put like that, entirely ridiculous. But the situation didn’t make sense, no matter how one approached it. He began, defensively, “I told you it’s – ”

“Well, you’re right,” said Matt, leaning back and tilting his head a little. “In a way.”

“Are you serious?” Peter exclaimed. 

“I have this aunt, right, and she goes around schools with love spells to reduce, like, various forms of oppression. So it’s not to make him come out, it’s a love spell, only he’s already dating you, so it’s not unethical so to speak.”

“Drugging Jason isn’t unethical?” he said incredulously. “Even Lucas only sells drugs, he doesn’t make anybody take them.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Technically, he messes with the food at all the parties, but that’s not really relevant here. She gave it to me to supposedly give to Ivy – she’s very dodgy – but of course I'm not going to do that. I wish she’d care for me like she does for Jason, but I’m not going to drug her into it, it wouldn’t be fair on her, it’s basically like a form of date rape. But Jason already clearly cares for you very much “like that”” he wagged his eyebrows suggestively, “so I just gave him a little push. Besides, it’s not fair how he’s been leading Ivy on. I just want to keep everybody on the same page.”

Peter sank his head down into his hands. “Look, just give me the antidote.”

“There is no antidote,” said Matt, and Peter felt his head shoot up to stare at him in horror. But Matt continued, “It’ll wear off naturally in,” he checked his watch, “probably within the hour, it’s hard to tell; I don’t know exactly when he actually got the flowers. I didn’t give him much.”

Peter only kept on staring at him. He expected to feel angry, but all he felt was curiously numb, for the situation did not seem quite real. And yet Matt seemed perfectly in earnest, seemed to consider himself indubitably in the right, and as absurd as this explanation sounded, he could supply no other. Nor could he think of anything he could say to Matt, to express the outrage he felt he ought to feel, and perhaps that would come later, for at this moment he felt only empty, drained of energy. Then concern came too, for Jason, who any time now would be stripped of this influence, would realise what had happened and fall into despair. The thought propelled him suddenly to his feet, and he rushed out of the room and through the corridors, leaving the offending cards still with the perpetrator. 

When he got back to the room, there was no light to be seen beneath the door. Peter sighed, fumbling in one pocket and then the other for the key. He put it in and turned it, only to try the door and find it locked. It had been unlocked, then, he realised, withdrawing the key and pushing it back into the pocket of his jeans, but he could not muster up the usual irritation. There was little to hide, now, from the others; he felt a little as though someone had opened the sea of his life only to leave a gaping hole for any to fall in as they chose; he could not fault Jason for running away from it all, somewhere else where nobody would come, where he would not have to look at Peter and feel the gaze of the world. 

But still, it hurt. 

He walked in, feeling for the light switch, sending the frame of the picture of Christ wobbling a little on the wall.

“Don’t,” said Jason, and Peter felt his hand fall obediently down to his side, even as he felt irritation spike at the coldness in Jason’s voice. But it was too late, and it was not really Jason who he was angry at, so he took a deep breath, pushing it away. 

“I found out what happened,” he said softly, into the darkness. 

The darkness did not reply. 

He stood there, and let his eyes adjust. Once they had done so, he wondered a little at himself for not noticing immediately, for there Jason was, quite clearly on the bed, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his thighs. He did not look up; a basketball lay between his feet. But he had not said “leave”, and so Peter allowed himself to come forward, sitting down next to Jason on his bed. He said nothing, only waited. There was tension in the line of Jason’s shoulders, his hair was a mess. 

After a while, Jason said, “I suppose you’re happy.”

“No.”

He had replied immediately, not sparing any thought on the issue. Jason, seemingly despite himself, looked up. “Really? But you wanted –” he let himself trail off.

Peter completed it for him, taking care to keep his voice as measured as possible. He felt a little as though he were coaxing the neighbour’s cat, and the thought pushed down his irritation, that little voice that wanted to yell at Jason that he wasn’t being fair. “ – to come out, you mean? I never meant to force you.” That, he thought, was the worst of it, for though in itself the problem with Matt’s actions was the drugging without consent, what bothered Peter the most was the removal of choice. 

“You didn’t,” said Jason, and tried to smooth his hair down with his fingers. 

“I’m sorry it happened like this,” then seeing Jason’s eyes narrow, he threw the caution to the winds and clung to honesty, “but I am glad it’s out in the open.” He leaned across, and put one of his hands on Jason’s. His fingers were cold. “But if you’ll let me explain – ”

Jason twitched a little, and did not clasp it, but nor did he pull away. “Later,” he said, then fell silent for moment. Then he said softly, “I know you are.” Following that, he sighed, and, flicking his eyes to Peter’s face so briefly that had he not been watching Jason’s face he would have missed it, added grudgingly, “perhaps one day I will be, too.” 

For a while they sat there in the dark in silence.


End file.
